I'll Remember You
by Shizuku Tsukishima749
Summary: -PC Movieverse/Bookverse AU.- When the Telmarine General captures Lucy at the River Rush, a secret friendship unfolds. Glozelle must make a choice: his life or that of an ancient Queen?


_A/N: _This AU take on the PC movieverse/bookverse explores a theory that came to mind after watching the scene in the movie in which the Pevensies and Trumpkin spy on the Telmarine army at the Fords of Beruna. I noticed the filmmakers made it look like Lucy was the last to leave, and an idea hit me: what if she looked back and were _caught_?

As this is of both 'verses, I am using the book-appearances and, with the exceptions of Peter, Trumpkin, and Glozelle, using the book personalities, seeing as the rest of the characters relatively stay the same in the movieverse. However, the Narnia in this is the one known in the movieverse.

_Disclaimer: _I do not own 'The Chronicles of Narnia'; wish I did SO much, but sadly, don't. They belong to the deceased C.S. Lewis and perhaps Disney and Walden Media Productions and anyone affiliated.

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**I'll Remember You**

The Four Kings and Queens of Narnia and their guide, Trumpkin the Red Dwarf, had planned to cross the Fords of Beruna to get to the Shuddering Woods, the last place Prince Caspian had been seen.

Unfortunately, that now seemed impossible as they observed the Telmarine troops' activities from behind a large pile of freshly-cut logs. The Humans were mindful to stroke the fallen Trees' bark caringly; the poor Dryads and Hamadryads who'd been killed to construct such a massive bridge as this deserved to be comforted, after all, even in death.

The group had no choice but to turn back, as there was no way to get across without being seen what with how the Telmarines had overtaken the entire bank for half the river.

Expressions of shocked surprise and horror overtook the Kings' and Queens' faces as they saw the immense size of the work force, which would ultimately become the army when the time came. The small flame of hope in their hearts flared half-heartedly: surely enough Narnians had survived to match this number! Yet, as they thought back on Trumpkin's words from earlier, this false optimism was easily snuffed out.

Suddenly, in looking to their left at an abrupt ruckus the five frantically moved to duck down even further as still more soldiers rode in from the woods on horseback, all led by a cruel-looking man. From the hateful visage on Trumpkin's face and the story he'd told them not too long ago, this had to be Miraz.

"Perhaps this wasn't the best way to come, after all," Susan whispered to Peter, and out of the corner of Lucy's eye, she noticed his eyes darken and an expression of self-loathing overtake his face. Lucy ached to comfort him, at least give him a smile, but now wasn't the time.

The youngest was only minutely surprised to see Trumpkin string an arrow as a hoped-to-be-used precaution. Had the situation not been so dire, she would have given him a small, empathetic grin; she and her siblings had been in many a circumstance during their reign in which revenge would have been sweet, but Lucy and the Dwarf both knew it wasn't right, especially from where they were standing.

Peter looked across his sisters to catch Edmund's waiting eyes, as was customary in times of trial and war, before backing up into the cover of the trees and marching stealthily away, Edmund, Trumpkin, and Susan following.

Lucy, however, was curious about the army and Narnia's usurper King. He seemed so vile, so horrid, but his followers…they couldn't _all _be as bad, could they? She'd rather not think so, and yet she couldn't deny that during her time as Narnia's youngest Queen that there had been subjects just as terrible as their sovereigns (Rabadash came to mind…).

But even beyond that…why would they be building a _bridge_, of all conceivable things? What advantage would _that_ bring them in the war?

Wanting to see if she couldn't get even the slightest clue, she took a chance and tossed a look over her shoulder—a move she would regret for a time to come.

The second she did so, she met eyes with a soldier several feet away. Each pair of orbs widened in shock (Lucy's partly in fear), and the little girl whirled to get away as fast as her nine-year-old feet would go. But it didn't seem to be fast enough, as the man sounded the alarm at the top of his lungs and her heartbeat quickened and breath hitched.

Sprinting her hardest, Lucy tried to spot her siblings among the surrounding trees. They would _never _leave her behind, so…where were they?

She panicked further when the sound of the soldiers' shouts, swift footsteps, and hoof-beats grew louder as they gained ground. She leaped from a small ledge and would have continued running if one of the men riding a steed hadn't stopped her by using the ledge as leverage in jumping over and landing in front of her.

Her other windows of opportunity were closed off to her as two more men on horseback boxed her in and numerous others on foot crowded behind them. She had no choice but to back up toward the tall outcrop and wait for their next course of action.

As far as expressions go, there was a distinct range: some were shocked, others disgusted, and still more were amazed, seeming to examine her fully now that she was cornered. Though she was terrified and an unnamed chill made her want to tremble, she squared her shoulders and held her head high, glaring at the soldiers defiantly. She could only pray for her siblings' safety, that they'd gotten away and wouldn't notice my absence for a while yet.

The man who first caught her dismounted and came to stand a cautious distance from her. Standing her ground, Lucy tried to hide the rising hairs on the back of her neck with her blonde tresses. It would do no good to show them how frightened she truly was.

As the man surveyed the girl with disbelieving, curious eyes, she paid close attention to him as he signaled to one of the younger men.

He wasn't as harsh-looking as Miraz, and he definitely wasn't as old. His hair was a curly ebony that ended at the nape of his neck, and he wore a full mustache and beard. His brown eyes seemed to hide a secret kindness, a mercy and guarded tenderness one wouldn't at all expect to find among the Telmarine regiment. (In a way, he reminded her of Peter during the last few years of their reign, though admittedly his warm heart had only ever been closed off like this man's when circumstances called for it.)

Oddly enough, Lucy found herself wanting to offer him a smile, but she didn't dare chance showing him any form of weakness yet; after all, she could very well be wrong. Not that she thought she was—many a suspicious suitor and active participation in wars in her older days had confirmed that when push came to shove her assumptions about people were correct, more-often-than-not.

The youthful man that had been brought out of the line walked behind Lucy and rather roughly pinioned her arms behind her back, not bothering to loosen his grip though she didn't struggle in the least. So long as her family stayed safe, as far as Lucy was concerned these men could do as they wanted with her. She would get back to her siblings eventually, somehow.

Anyway, there was no point in starting a fight. The sole outcome of any skirmish would undoubtedly mean death for her, and her people, wherever they were, needed her too much for her to abandon them in such a juvenile manner.

And though never in her life did she think such a thought would cross her mind, she was glad her siblings were not here. They need not fight fruitlessly, and besides, she trusted Aslan infinitely. The Great Lion would never abandon her.

The man who'd been staring at her, the one Lucy guessed to be the soldiers' commander, examined her belt for weapons with gentle, oddly respectful hands. Lucy watched him semi-warily, becoming more intrigued as the seconds passed.

All the same, her breath caught as he found the case for her cordial. Undoing the clasp and flipping open the leather pouch, he carefully took out the delicate bottle and held it up to the sunlight to study it further.

She could not take as much comfort as she wished from the painting of Aslan on her cordial's diamond surface, for just then the General unfastened the cork and tilted his head back to taste a single drop of the liquid.

At the same time she cried out in protest, she was surprised when many of his men did as well. Now, why would they do such a thing, possibly give up their lives, if he truly were so cruel a man? Was she right about him, then?

But it was too late.

Instantly, the General's eyes lit up and face appeared flushed, and curiously he began prodding and poking certain spots on his body where he must have been recently wounded.

His face showed incomparable awe, and he gradually lifted his head to peer at Lucy with eyes wide as saucers, his free arm dangling loosely as his other hand gripped her re-corked cordial even more carefully than before.

His men, though, were worried that the drink had done something irreparable to him. Several of them begged him to say something, to prove he could indeed speak and breathe, for he had not done either in many a pressing minute. For her part, Lucy was floored, both to see that these men genuinely cared for their General and also to know that she had inadvertently helped this man.

Finally, he took a breath—and Lucy could swear every soldier did the same out of immense relief—doing so much less roughly than any would have expected after so long without oxygen.

But all pondering ceased when he straightened and fixed his gaze on Lucy once again. His eyes danced with wonder, and the young Queen found herself growing lost in them…that is, before the 'gentleman' gripped her wrists tight enough to make bruises.

"Who _are_ you?" he asked, though she was rendered speechless by how soft his voice was.

The fireflower juice couldn't have affected him that much, could it? That he would be so kind to a _Narnian _captive?

She must have kept quiet for too long, for one of the men in the crowd snickered jeeringly.

"Perhaps she's too petrified by her home's superiors to speak, General." An angry expression hatched its way onto Lucy's face before she could school her features, and the soldier appeared maliciously amused as he laughed harshly and smirked toothily. "It seems I've hit a soft spot, eh, girl?"

He was taunting her openly, but the young girl swore she would be not baited again. She regarded him dully now, though admittedly her heart was screaming for her to defend her siblings' honor. She firmed the planting of her feet in the earth, willing Aslan to give her strength.

To his credit, the General sent a heated glare to the soldier as he spoke.

"That will be enough from you, Gilden," he hushed, being sure to add in a well-backed threat for good measure. "You may remember your place."

The soldier wilted, eyes widening and face paling, before he stood at attention and replied respectfully, "Forgive my insolence, Sir. I will remember."

The superior's stern expression melted slightly, but his brown eyes sharpened.

"I suspect you will. However, the one you have smudged is not I," he raised a hand to his chest, "but another." Gilden's eyes dropped to the ground, but very slowly he turned to the captive Narnian and raised his eyes to meet hers and nodded quickly, quirking one side of his mouth to resemble a ghost of a half-smile. The General smiled, pleased. "At ease."

The lesser-ranked soldier relaxed, and though both he and Lucy very much wished to question the General on his unprecedented behavior, they decided against it. The younger man had gotten in enough trouble, and Lucy herself was still very much in it.

Turning back to the youngest Narnian Queen, the bearded male reached toward her before giving sudden pause. He looked up at her, straight into her eyes, and kept his gaze there for a few moments prior to returning to the task of inspecting the contents of her belt. It was almost as if he'd wanted to warn her of his plans, to let her know that he would be no threat to her. How curious…

Finding her dagger, he withdrew it from its small sheath with skilled fingers and examined it as closely as he had the cordial, which he still held in his other hand.

Truthfully, her knife was nothing special, not at all as important as her healing flask; it was made of the same material as Peter and Edmund's swords, crafted by Red Dwarfs in the far-away caves on the very outskirts of Narnia under orders of Father Christmas. A reddish-pink fireflower was engraved on one side, while my title was inscribed in gold on the other, done by Cair Paravel's own Red Dwarfs after the name had been bestowed at the Golden Four's coronation.

Upon reading the moniker, his eyes widened and his face was the picture of shock as he snapped up to meet her eyes. She couldn't help but wonder why in the world he looked so incredulous, and her blue orbs expressed as much—she wasn't about to repeat the mistake with her visage.

The Telmarines of her reign had hated Narnia to the point of never bothering to remember its Four Sovereigns' titles, and she'd expected the same from these.

But his reaction now gave the impression that she was wrong, at least about him. Had this knowledge for some reason been forced upon him by Miraz, or had he truly been curious about the centuries-long hatred between the two countries and opted to research the Old Tales for himself?

His jaw twitched three times, and Lucy could tell he wanted to ask something more, something less public, but he clenched his jaw tightly in resolve. He would wish to speak later, she knew, and she would be ready and waiting.

The General looked to the man that had captured her wrists, who pushed her along in front of him through the forest, back the way they'd come.

Lucy did not allow her chin to lower or her shoulders to slump; she was a proud Queen of Narnia, and she would project herself as such until the end.

Somehow, she did not feel very afraid to have this aggressive man handling her, nor did she feel particularly anxious about the thirty-plus-men trailing them.

Least of all, she feared the General. There was something about him she liked, mixed in there somewhere with his apparent inherent sense of justice and goodwill. Besides, from what she could tell, he seemed like he was being manipulated, like he didn't _want_ to do as he was, but did because he had no other alternatives.

Thinking about him that way made her think of Trumpkin, the gruff Red Dwarf with a big heart full of doubt. Even though he didn't believe in Aslan now, Lucy knew he would be convinced someday, somehow. Maybe Aslan Himself would make His presence known to him.

Then, as often happened, thinking of Trumpkin made her think of her siblings. Had Peter exploded again, and if so, at whom and for what reason? Was Edmund still struggling to keep Peter in line? Was Susan stopping them from starting another useless fight about Peter's immaturity? Had they noticed Lucy wasn't with them yet? And most importantly, were they _safe_?

Though Lucy knew they would do anything for her, as had been expressed countless beloved times over the duration of their rule, this was one of the many instances in which she would rather have the enemy kill her than injure or murder one of her siblings. If they were to be hurt or perish on her behalf…

Tear flooded her eyes at the prospect, but she was determined not to let them fall and hurriedly blinked them away. If the salty droplets began spilling down her face, the soldiers would think she were crying because she was afraid for her future, for herself, when it was honestly the absolute opposite.

She would be all right, so long as she believed in Aslan.

Her family would be, too, because she knew Aslan would protect them.

Prince Caspian, young and righteous and yet inexperienced as he was, would be led on the right path to the restoration of Narnia if he had faith enough, as she somehow knew he did.

As for her beloved Narnia…in time, it would be saved, some way or another.

The Great Lion was the Creator of this place. And as it was His to make, it would be His to be undone.

Yet, she somehow knew he wasn't quite done with it yet. Far from it.

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_A/N: _Hopefully, either from the book or the movie (though admittedly their characterizations are rather different), all of you know who General Glozelle is.

I _know _I made him a semi-good, not-so-bad guy, but after watching his reaction in the scene where he was told by Miraz to murder his own men, seeing him act so nicely in the 'goodbye' scene at the end of the movie, observing how he hesitated in killing Caspian during the battle, etc., I can't help but think he's an honestly good man who's being manipulated/been led astray. And how Glozelle knows about the Four Monarchs and their titles will come in time.

Your questions about the whereabouts of Edmund, Susan, Peter and Trumpkin will be answered come next chapter.

The designs on Lucy's dagger and how they and the dagger itself came to be are of my creation.

Thanks for reading, as always!


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